


Bite Me

by ChuckleVoodoos



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slayer-Watcher Relationship, Vampire Slayer(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 18:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4070407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuckleVoodoos/pseuds/ChuckleVoodoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am constantly amazed by how much you suck at being a vampire slayer.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bite Me

“I am constantly amazed by how much you _suck_ at being a vampire slayer.”

 

“Thank you!” Matt says brightly, wiping his blunt stakes off on his shirt, much to the disgusted noises of Foggy.

 

“Ew. I am _not_ doing your laundry again, Matt. You are scrubbing those bloodstains out on your own time and your own dime.”

 

“Mm-hmm.” Matt agrees mildly. He knows if he just stays meek and quiet and looks pathetic enough, Foggy will end up washing the blood out like he always does, and he’ll give it back to Matt soft and clean and smelling faintly of Foggy’s detergent.

 

Matt gets maybe a little bit more blood on his clothes than he strictly has to.

 

“The sun’s coming up.” Foggy notes mildly. “If you don’t want him to burn to a crisp and waste your corny motivational speech on the merits of good, we should probably go drag him into the shed.”

 

Matt hears the muffled thunk of Foggy poking the vampire with his foot. He nods easily, and they tow the unconscious vampire over to the shed that smells of old wood and rust. Foggy huffs and puffs like a champion, but as far as Matt can tell the only part of the vampire he’s actually lifting is his limp pinkie. Matt rolls his eyes and hoists the vampire over his shoulder, carrying him the rest of the way himself.

 

“You just have to be macho, don’t you?” Foggy calls after him, and Matt grins, tossing the vampire in one smooth movement into the shed and kicking the door closed with a roundhouse. “Show-off.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Matt replies, faux-oblivious. “Breakfast?”

 

“Yeah, not dressed like that you’re not.” Foggy tells him, and Matt hears the zipper on the duffle bag Foggy totes around with him whenever they go on patrol. “Give me the clothes, and the stakes.” Matt obediently hands over the stakes and starts pulling his shirt over his head.

 

“Whoa, hey, give a guy some warning, Murdock!” Foggy yelps, and Matt hears his heart racing when he turns away. Matt grins. Foggy’s trained to be a calm, as a Watcher. Watchers _need_ to be calm, to temper and train the often-hotheaded Slayers they get assigned. Foggy rarely ever loses his cool, and when he does it’s something to be treasured. So far the only things Matt can find that make his heart race are Matt being hurt and Matt being half-naked.

 

Matt obviously prefers the latter one.

 

And he’s not sure if it means anything. Foggy could just be a little uncomfortable with a guy stripping in front of him, but he doesn’t really seem like the type to freak out over it. And maybe, maybe it’s more. Maybe Foggy thinks about Matt the way Matt thinks about him, the way Matt wants to pull him into a kiss every time Foggy walks yawning into the office, every time Foggy says goodnight when he goes home after a patrol, every time Foggy says his name, every time Foggy breathes—right now, when Matt’s exhausted and covered in vampire blood and Foggy’s grumbling about his exhibitionism.

 

Watchers can’t be too close to their Slayers. Emotional entanglement results in the termination of the partnership.

 

They’re already too close, working together day and night, spending practically every waking moment together and some sleeping moments too, when they crash at each other’s apartments. And Matt knows if the Council ever sends someone to check up on them, they’ll take one look at Matt and know he’s compromised. He can’t help it, the way he smiles every time Foggy enters a room, the way he can’t stop even after Foggy leaves it.

 

Foggy’s smart. Foggy puts it off, gives them all kinds of outlandish excuses about why this month’s not a good time for a review, try again never. Matt thinks Foggy might know they’re too close too, and he’s trying to keep them safe for as long as he can. Matt wonders what the Council would see if they looked at Foggy. Matt can’t see if Foggy smiles when Matt enters a room, but when Foggy reaches out to touch his elbow and guide him, he thinks it might look pretty similar.

 

_Too close already. Don’t push your luck._

 

“We should pick something up for Karen.” He says serenely, pulling the clean shirt over his head and pretending he didn’t just spend close to a minute pondering how much trouble he’d be in if he started kissing Foggy and never stopped.

 

“Hey, yeah. I bet she’d like a croissant. One of those yummy ones with the chocolate chips. Oh, we should hurry though, or else they’ll run out.” And right on time, a gentle hand runs down his arm and touches his fingers. Matt smiles and nods, tucking his hand into the crook of Foggy arm and letting Foggy lead him.

 

They only need to pretend when someone’s watching, and the only one Matt can sense nearby is the comatose vampire in the shed. There’s no reason that Foggy has to offer his arm, and there’s no reason Matt has to take it. He takes it anyway.

 

_Don’t push your luck._

 

* * *

 

Karen Paige is a very lovely woman, both inside and out—at least from what Foggy tells him, and Matt grits his teeth and nods because he _does_ like Karen, even when Foggy’s telling Matt fawningly how pretty she is.

 

She is a lovely woman, but she is a _horrible_ witch.

 

“Oh, god. I’m so sorry. I was just trying to fix the coffee maker.” She babbles when they get to the office and find the entire place filled with acrid smoke. Matt can’t help a rather strangled cough as the stuff overwhelms his senses, and Foggy tows him right back out of the office and down onto the street, Karen trailing after them.

 

The smell is still a little too strong for him, so Foggy tows him down the block until Matt can breathe a little more easily.

 

“I’m so _sorry._ ” Karen says again, sounding devastated. “I can’t believe—it was such a simple spell. I should have been able to do it.” Matt nods, smiling weakly. He wonders how long it will take before the office is inhabitable again.

 

“Did you draw the semicircle with your left index finger or your right thumb?” Foggy asks curiously, and Karen curses in a way entirely unbefitting of a lady. Matt grins. He really _does_ like her, even if Foggy likes her _too_ much.

“I forgot. The stupid book didn’t specify, but I should have remembered.” Foggy shakes his head, Matt hearing the rustle of his hair against his shoulders—haircut far too long for a professional Watcher’s, but Foggy refuses to change it and Matt loves him for it.

 

“No, I totally get it. Actually, the fact that you got such a strong reaction is pretty impressive. Once you get it right, you’ll be able to fix a dozen coffee makers at once.” Foggy comforts. “I mean, you know. If we could actually afford a dozen coffee makers.” He finishes, and Matt thinks he probably means to sound bitter but instead he just sounds sort of affectionately exasperated. Matt knows he loves their law practice, no matter how much grief it brings him.

 

In addition to his hair, Foggy gets into a great deal of trouble with the Council for letting Matt have a day job. They might not care so much if Matt wasn’t a lawyer specializing in creature rights and defense—the very creatures he’s supposed to be slaying. They might not care so much if Foggy wasn’t the same kind of lawyer.

 

As it is, Matt is pretty sure they’re always about one case away from getting fired, and getting fired from the Council usually involves actual _fire._

“We’ll get more cases soon.” Karen soothes, and she sounds so sure that it makes Matt smile. Karen really is a good person, even if she is too pretty. Foggy sighs.

 

“Yeah, I hope so.” He says, not entirely optimistically. “I guess if worst comes to worst I can live on my Watcher salary.” Matt can tell he’s wrinkling his nose when he says it. Foggy doesn’t like depending on the Council to fund him in any way. Apparently Watchers all tend to be suspicious of each other, which makes sense considering every other Watcher Matt has ever met. Foggy is the only one who doesn’t talk like a stuffy, paranoid encyclopedia.

 

Matt squeezes his elbow gently, and Foggy knocks their shoulders together. Nothing like the other Watchers, Matt thinks. Foggy is warm.

 

He’s Matt’s first Watcher, and he’s also going to be his last. Matt won’t let anyone else lead him.

 

“I guess we might as well eat.” Foggy sighs.

 

So the three of them sit on a street corner and eat croissants until their office is no longer a choking hazard, and talk about the demonic ways of coffee makers and how to combat their evil using your right thumb.

 

Matt has never been so happy.

 

* * *

 

“Another one.” Foggy muses, and Matt hears the rustle of clothing as Foggy leans down and pats the man down. “One of Vladmir’s, I think. Which, bit heavy-handed, don’t you think? Vlad the Vampire?”

 

“He was Vlad before he was a vampire.” Matt points out easily. Foggy snorts.

 

“Exactly. With a name like Vlad, he had his work cut out for him.” Foggy replies, and Matt grins. “We’re going to have to find him, soon. This is escalating.”

 

“Yes.” Matt agrees, grin slipping into a frown. “But there’s more going on here. It’s not just the Russians.” Foggy sighs and straightens, and Matt sees the rising flare of flame when Foggy stretches his arms over his head and arches his back to work out the kinks. Matt’s mouth goes dry.

 

“Mm, no.” Foggy says, sounding tired. It’s been a long night, for both of them. Too many leads to run down, not enough time. “It’s got to be a lot of the Families. They’ve never worked together before, not like this. Something’s acting as the lynchpin.” Matt hates the thought, because it means that something’s been growing and festering in his city right under his nose. “No, uh-uh. Stop with the frowny face.” Foggy tells him firmly, snapping his fingers in front of Matt’s nose, the sound sharp.

 

“I’m not—“ He actually _is_ frowning, pretty severely. “This is a serious matter! Frowning is natural.”

 

“Yeah, normal frowning.” Foggy says, in his ‘you-are-adorable-because-you-are-so-dumb’ voice—which he uses an insulting number of times around Matt. “That’s the frown of a man that is about to go angst himself to sleep tonight.”

 

Matt frowns harder.

 

“I am not going to angst myself to sleep tonight, because I am not _going_ to sleep tonight.” He informs Foggy tartly. “I am going to follow this trail until I find something to sink my teeth into.”

 

“Matt…” Foggy says warningly. “Come on. I’m exhausted, and the trail’s cold.” Matt shakes his head, slipping his stakes back into their holsters.

 

“ _You_ are going home and sleeping.” He orders firmly. “I can go longer without rest than you. I’ll handle this.”

 

“Would you stop being such a Slayer?” Foggy snaps, and Matt blinks at him. “Yes, I get it, you are a superman. I am not. But I am not leaving you alone to deal with this when we both know something’s up! And you are not going to find anything tonight, because there is nothing left to find, but if prowling around town chasing dead-end leads is what will cheer you up, I’m coming.”

 

Matt hears the slide of wood on skin when Foggy adjusts his crossbow. Matt shakes his head, stepping closer to put a hand on Foggy’s shoulder.

 

“You need rest, Foggy.” He says, and he almost winces when he hears how tender his voice comes out. “I’ll be alright for one night. I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”

 

“Yeah, no.” Foggy tells him flatly, reaching up and gripping Matt’s hand. “We go together, or not at all. And, just putting it out there, but I think I might actually pass out in a minute.”

 

Matt startles, alarmed, and reaches out immediately to wrap an arm around Foggy’s shoulders to support him.

 

“Do you need me to carry you?” He asks, concerned and a little too eager. _Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes._

Matt’s never had a chance to carry Foggy, but the thought of feeling Foggy warm and heavy in his arms, maybe with his arms wrapped around Matt’s neck and kissing just a little at his jaw, coy little nips while Matt carried him across the room, over to the bed—

 

“I’m fine, you worrywart.” Foggy assures him, sounding amused. “I can manage to limp home. Hey, you should come with.”

 

Matt tenses, eyes wide.

 

“Oh?” He says, voice a little too high. Foggy shrugs, shoulders moving under Matt’s arm.

 

“Sure. I can keep an eye on you, make sure you’re not sneaking out to do some secret slaying.” Right. Matt deflates a little. “Plus I sleep better when I know you’re nearby.”

 

“Oh.” Matt says again, intelligently. He can’t keep a little grin off his face. “Yeah, okay. One night. Tomorrow I’m going to pursue this.” He tries to say firmly, but he thinks he just sounds indulgent.

 

“Sure, Matt.” Foggy agrees, reaching up to pat his arm. He _definitely_ sounds indulgent. “Anything you say. Right now, take me home.”

 

So very much yes.

 

Foggy seems pretty steady on his feet, but he doesn’t tell Matt to let go. In fact, at one point when a chattering, tipsy group passes them by, he presses closer and calls Matt ‘sweetie’. It’s one of their standard covers for why they walk around together at night—blissful couple going for a midnight stroll—and Matt wonders sometimes if it’s so effective because of how much he wants it to be true. He doesn’t dare go for a kiss on the cheek, but he does call Foggy ‘darling’ and tug him even closer.

 

The group coos. Matt thinks they probably wouldn’t be so charmed if they looked in Foggy’s bag and saw a crossbow. He still shoots a bashful grin in their direction and ducks his head, and they coo again.

 

“You abuse the privilege of that smile.” Foggy tells him matter-of-factly. “Honestly, breaking the drunken little hearts of an entire sorority in one night. Matt turns the bashful grin on Foggy instead. “Don’t even try it, mister. I’m onto your wiles.”

 

“Of course, dearest.” Matt murmurs, even though he knows the sorority girls are out of earshot. Foggy might not know that, and Matt’s going to enjoy this as long as he can. His eyes widen a little when he realizes what he said. Nope, that sounded way too intimate. It didn’t sound like he was joking at all. “Sweetie pie, honey-bunch, baby bear.” He adds, thinking of the most outrageous names he can to cover his mistake.

 

“You’re such a sap.” Foggy teases, and then adds a little more quietly, “Matty.”

 

Matt shivers. Foggy doesn’t bring out ‘Matty’ very often, saving it for special occasions, but every time he says it…

 

“Just for you.” He whispers, even though the girls are gone and he’s playing with fire. “Only for you.”

 

Foggy stops walking for a second, and Matt’s blood runs cold. Oh god, he sounded too lovesick, didn’t he? He didn’t even _try_ to pass that one off as a joke. He’d just—he—

 

He can never think straight when Foggy calls him ‘Matty’. He tends to do stupid things, like almost confess his undying love.

 

“Yeah.” Foggy mutters, and his voice is odd but he doesn’t sound mad. “Sounds good, Matty. Let’s go home.”

 

Matt relaxes. Safe, for now. He’ll have to be more careful in the future.

 

_Matty. Let’s go home. Matty._

“I lo—“ He shakes his head sharply. That damn ‘Matty’. “I _listened_ , and I think we can drop the act.” His throat feels tight when he says it. Foggy tenses under his hand and takes a deep breath.

 

He pulls away sharply from under Matt’s arm, and Matt feels bitterly cold at the loss.

 

“Sure.” Foggy says, flatly, and Matt hears his footsteps getting further away. “We’re here anyway.” Matt hears the click of the lobby door being unlocked. “Great job, Matt. You’re a very good actor.”

 

_I’m not acting._

Matt swallows and doesn’t answer.

 

* * *

 

“Little too close to your lapdog, aren’t you?” Stick asks sharply. Matt grits his teeth and says nothing. “I wonder what the Council would think about that.”

 

“The _Council_ wouldn’t listen to a word you said.” Matt reminds him tersely. “They’d probably shoot you on sight, after what you did.”

 

Stick laughs.

 

“Like those stuck-up bastards didn’t have it coming.” He chuckles. According to Foggy, Stick is a legend among the Watchers. He wrecked one of their bases, took out three Watchers who were later proved to be using blood magic, and stole a whole vault’s worth of artifacts. None of the artifacts were ever sold, and Matt wonders what Stick did with them.

 

Matt’s probably better off not knowing.

 

“I’m not sure they’d feel the same way.” Matt says shortly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have an early day tomorrow and—“

 

“Why do you smell like you’ve been rubbing all day on your Watcher like a cat in heat, but there’s a not a hint of him on your prissy silk sheets?” Stick asks abruptly. Matt gapes at him, snarky remark forgotten and eyes wide.

 

“Don’t _do_ that.” He hisses angrily. “That’s sick.” Stick laughs again, a sharp sound.

 

“He’s never _been_ on your prissy silk sheets, has he?” Stick muses, sounding amused. “So did he say no, or are you just too chicken to tell him?”

 

Matt glares mutinously and says nothing.

 

“Chicken, then.” Stick decides easily. “Although he probably would turn you down flat. Watchers, they're cold-blooded. They’ll turn on you the moment you let your guard down, and you’ll never see them coming.”

 

There’s a wealth of bitterness in his voice, and for a moment Matt is reminded of how very little he knows about Stick. Stick had trained him for a few months, given him all sorts of cryptic hints about his future as a warrior, and then vanished when Matt was finally starting to think he’d found someone to take care of him. Before and after those few months, though? Nothing.

 

He wonders what the Watcher was like, the one who turned on Stick. Not like Foggy. Nothing like Foggy.

 

“Mine's not like that.” Matt says before he can stop himself. It’s not like Stick doesn’t already know Matt’s a little too attached. He might as well stand up for Foggy while he has the chance. Stick snorts.

 

“They’re _all_ like that.” He retorts severely. “You heard about all the things they have to do to earn their stripes? Nasty stuff, isn’t it?”

 

Matt says nothing. Foggy _had_ told him, actually. The studies aren’t the hard part, he’d said. It’s the practical exam that gets you. All sorts of vicious trials, apparently. Cutting down your fellow students with a muttered trapping spell, slaughtering creatures just to prove you can.

 

Foggy failed his practical exam.

 

“He’s different.” Matt says stubbornly. “He’s good.” Stick clicks his tongue, considering.

 

“You’ve got Nelson, don’t you?” He checks, and Matt tenses. “I’ve heard about him. Lily-livered, wouldn’t kill a bunny rabbit to save his own life during the testing.”

 

“It was a chimera.” Matt grits out. “And he captured it.” Stick chuckles.

 

“And then he snuck it out of the base and set it free in the woods. I heard all about it. Bit of a disgrace to his brethren, your Nelson.” He makes a considering sound. “Too soft. I can see why you two get along so well.”

 

Matt tosses his bag of stakes on the couch in answer. Stick pauses for a second, and Matt knows he was listening to the sound of the bag hitting the cloth of the sofa.

 

“Those things aren’t even _sharp.”_ Stick accuses, sounding honestly surprised and a little disgusted. “They said you were doing a catch-and-release program, but I said I didn’t believe it. Not Murdock, I said. He’s dumb, but he’s not that dumb.”

 

“Crime rates are down.” Matt says lowly. “It’s working.”

 

“Half your city just blew up!” Stick says incredulously.

 

“I’m handling it.” Matt says shortly. “It was an isolated incident, and has nothing to do with my standard policy. Not every vampire is a mad bomber.”

 

“You’re treating them like _pets.”_ Stick hisses. “They’re fang-faced freaks, and they will slit your throat and lick the blood out like candy if you let them.” Matt clenches his jaw. “They’re not people. There’s nothing left of them inside. They’re just shells, killing machines.”

 

“They used to be people.” Matt replies quietly. “Some of them used to be good people.” Stick sighs, exasperated.

 

“And you think they’d want to be let loose, running around and sucking their friends and family dry? They’re already dead, Matty.”

 

He doesn’t say ‘Matty’ the way that Foggy does, with all the warmth and softness and hidden laughter. There’s a thread of frustrated affection in Stick’s voice, certainly, but that’s all. Matt doesn’t feel his breath catch when Stick says it. It just makes his eyes narrow.

 

“They walk. They talk. There’s still _something_ there.” He argues. Stick scoffs.

 

“Exactly. _Something._ Not someone.” Matt hears Stick’s fingers brush across the canvas of Matt’s bag, probably wanting to open it and check inside, and Matt reaches out and pulls it back to him sharply.

 

Stick is _not_ touching his stakes. Foggy carved them special, making the ends blunt enough to be nonfatal and etching little runes of protection along the sides. To protect Matt. Matt runs his fingers along each stake every night before he goes to bed, feeling out the painstakingly carved letters.

 

“Enough.” Matt says firmly, and he’s clutching the stakes to his chest and he probably looks like a child cuddling a teddy bear, but he doesn’t care. “Leave.”

 

“What does Nelson think about your strategy?” Stick asks idly. “He may be a coward, but he’s not dumb. He must have told you how stupid this is.”

 

Foggy is the one who suggested the stakes. Before, Matt had just used his bare fists, and Foggy had sighed over his split knuckles and wrapped them carefully in gauze. Matt had been scared to use weapons, knowing how he lost himself sometimes in the fight, afraid of what he’d do if he had the chance. Foggy had fixed it, because Foggy fixes everything.

 

“He’s made his opinion clear.” Matt says coldly. Stick snorts.

 

“Fine. None of my business what you two princesses do in your spare time. It’s your funeral.” He pauses. “Tonight though, I’m going to need to borrow your particular skill set. So man up, and for god’s sake, get some weapons that can actually draw blood.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Matt snaps, frowning. “Besides, I promised F—Nelson that I’d…”

 

What is he going to say? ‘I promised Foggy I was going to try and get some sleep tonight, because he said I looked tired and he was worried about me? He promised to bring me breakfast in the morning if I got at least six hours of sleep? Six hours I’m probably going to spend dreaming about him?’

 

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.” Stick mutters. “Look, kid. You can moon over your Watcher later. Really, I wish you well. You’re going to get yourself killed, but still, have a great time. Tonight though, I don’t need Moony Matthew Murdock. I need the Slayer. The Devil.”

 

Matt _hates_ that name.

 

“No way in hell.” He snaps.

 

An hour later he’s following Stick out the door, and three hours after that Foggy’s helping him pick up the pieces of his furniture, furious.

 

“You didn’t _call_ me, Matt.” Foggy hisses. “You went out, and you almost got yourself killed for someone who, for all intents and purposes, is the bogeyman for my profession, and you didn’t think it might be a good idea to _call_ me?”

 

“It was fine.” Matt tells him honestly. “I got hurt worse from Stick than I did from the…thing.” He’s not sure what to call what he heard on the docks. Strange heartbeat, not quite right—quick like a bird, but strange, off-kilter. More than one heart beating in the same chest. No breath. _Wrong._

 

“That’s not comforting!” Foggy yelps. “From what I’ve heard about the guy, you’re lucky he didn’t kill you! How did he even get past the wards I set?” Foggy asks, worried. “Did they not work right?”

 

“No, they were great.” Matt assures him. “Actually, I…I let him in.” He winces even before he hears the sharp intake of breath.

 

“You let. That man. Into my _wards?”_ Foggy asks slowly, dangerous. Matt nods meekly. “What the hell, Matt? Now I have to redo all of them just so he can’t sneak back in. Do you have any idea how long that will take? I have to do it quick too, no long pauses, or else the spells won’t weave together. I won’t be able to leave. I’ll have to stay over for _days.”_

Matt blinks once, slowly.

 

“Oh, darn.” He says, trying to sound suitably disappointed. “Shall I make up the couch for you?” Foggy snorts.

 

“As if. I’m taking the bed.”

 

Matt blinks again, making sure his face is turned away so that Foggy can’t see his quick, fierce smile.

 

“Well, if you insist…”

 

* * *

 

Foggy does end up staying for days, an impromptu long weekend. The first two nights they take turns on the bed, but the third night Foggy snags Matt’s sleeve and drags him along towards the bedroom.

 

“You’re tired, I’m tired, your couch is made of broken dreams and lumpy bits, and we are both adults here.” He says patiently, pulling Matt into bed. “We can share a bed without getting cooties.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Matt agrees, a little strangled. “Absolutely.” He listens to the sound of Foggy shifting around to get comfortable, the cool slide of silk over cloth. Foggy’s wearing a T-shirt and pajama pants, worn and soft against the silk, and Matt wonders what it would sound like if Foggy wasn’t wearing anything at all. Beautiful, he thinks. Like a song.

 

“You okay, Matt?” Foggy asks, sounding a little concerned. “This isn’t too weird, is it?” Matt shakes his head, so quickly he thinks he might actually strain a muscle in his neck.

 

“Nope. This is perfect.” Too strong a word. “I mean, it’s amazing.” Nope. Try again. “It’s okay.” Better.

 

“Okay…” Foggy mutters, sounding a little bemused. “Well, those sound like good things, I guess.”

 

“Yup.” Matt agrees hastily. “Good. Normal.” He clears his throat, deciding to cut his losses. “Night.”

 

“Yeah, good-normal-night to you too.” Foggy says softly, and he still sounds a little confused but also a little fond. Foggy sounding fond in Matt’s bed is…good. Normal. “Wake me up in an hour, alright? I need to finish one of bigger circles, and it’ll set me back half a day if I miss this next part. Just a little… a little nap.” He already sounds mostly asleep.

 

“Sweet dreams.” Matt murmurs, and Foggy hums happily. A minute or so later his breath has evened out and deepened. Fast asleep.

 

Matt considers for maybe a second, probably less. Half a day…

 

He rolls over, slings an arm around Foggy’s waist—if Foggy asks, Matt sleep-cuddles—and closes his eyes.

 

Three hours later, Foggy smacks him awake and starts reading Matt the riot act about falling asleep on duty. Matt grins and asks if he wants coffee or tea with breakfast.

 

His arm is still around Foggy’s waist. Foggy never asks him to let go.

 

* * *

 

“You saved my life.” The woman gasps, and Matt grimaces.

 

“Well, you aren’t actually _alive._ ” He points out awkwardly, and when the woman makes an offended sound, “But you’re welcome. Just… try to avoid back alleys filled with hoards of monsters in the future, okay?” 

 

“Of course.” The woman—vampire says, breathless. Well, _actually_ breathless too, yeah, but also definitely a little short of breath in the more emotional sense. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

 

“It’s no trouble.” Matt says, relaxing a little. Most vampires tend to be a little more…bitey, but this woman seems okay. A bit fawning, but that happens sometimes when you save someone’s life.

 

“Is there anything I can do to thank you properly?” The vampire asks, earnest and kind. “Really, anything at all. We could maybe, well…” She hesitates, swallows. “Maybe we could grab a bite sometime?” She groans. “Oh, I’m so sorry, that was horrible, I swear I didn’t mean it that way.” She gasps out, flustered.

 

She reminds him a little of Foggy, in some strange little way. Matt thinks it’s the rambling. He smiles a little absently at the thought of Foggy’s last rambling speech—yelling at Matt for messing up his wards for the second time by ‘spilling’ his coffee on one of the chalk outlines, forcing Foggy to stay for lunch and then for dinner to finish. Perfect.

 

… _Foggy_. Perfect. Why isn’t he with Foggy? He should find Foggy.

 

He realizes with a start that the woman is still stuttering, periodically stopping to swallow nervously. He’s completely missed most of her speech, a little dazed and sort of cloudy-minded, but she still seems to be gunning for a date so he tells her gently,

 

“Thank you, but there’s really nothing you need to do. I’m just happy I was here to help. But I really do need to get to work now, so if you have someone you can call…”

 

The vampire sighs, a little forlorn.

 

“I’m sure someone will pick up, if I call enough people.” She says, somewhat piteously. Poor girl, Matt thinks with a pang of sympathy. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

“I could take you to a bus station or something.” Matt offers awkwardly, not quite sure how he can do that without giving too much away. He’s still dressed for work, although he’s got some tears in his suit now. And to this woman, he might just be a weird ninja businessman, but if Matt goes into work now, he’ll give the game away.

 

He shoots a glance to the building on his right, where he knows Foggy is waiting. If he hurries and gets the woman away from here and somewhere safe, he can buy bagels to appease Foggy and also to get Karen in a good mood. They might not even comment on him being late, although Foggy will be worried about his ruined suit.

 

_Foggy. He should find Foggy. He should bring Foggy here._

 

“So, no chance of a victory breakfast?” The woman asks hesitantly, and Matt shakes his head slowly, feeling a little guilty and a little fuzzy. The woman sighs. “Figures. All the good ones are gay or taken.”

 

Well. Matt shrugs, a little uncomfortable. Not technically gay, and not technically taken. Pretty damn close to both though, both entirely Foggy’s fault.

 

“Sorry. There’s actually a pay-phone down at the end of the street. Here, I can give you some money.” He reaches into his pocket.

 

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you. I’ll just—“ The vampire gives a pained gasp, and Matt hears a heavy sound as she falls—to her knees, keeping herself up but just barely. Matt blinks. There’s no way the sun’s up yet. It’s late winter, it won’t be light out for another hour.

 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, concerned. The vampire hisses in pain.

 

“One of them hit me. I didn’t notice—I must have still been in shock.” She whimpers, and Matt smells the sharp tang of blood. “Oh, god. Do you—get help, please!” She sounds terrified, and Matt feels an alien burst of panic. He never panics in situations like these, and it’s not like he’s not used to blood, but for some reason he’s desperate to help this woman. She needs help. She’s just a poor, scared woman ( _vampire)_ that needs his help.

 

“Right.” Matt pulls out his phone, and the woman makes a piteous sound.

 

“No, they’ll never get here in time. Isn’t there somewhere we can go? It will be light out soon, and even if it wasn’t…” She coughs, a weak, wet little sound. “I don’t know if I could make it. There must be something…”

 

 _Foggy. Foggy can help. He wants to find Foggy._ _Find him. Bring him here, now._

 

Matt hesitates. He can’t take her up to the office. He wouldn’t trust her there anyway, and there’s no way she’d get past Foggy’s wards. The ones at the office are only slightly less ridiculously strong than the ones at Matt’s apartment. Foggy may have flunked his practical exam, but no one in the Council can say that he’s not a master of protective magic.

 

He can’t get the woman _(vampire, no, vampire)_ past the wards, but if Foggy comes down…

 

“Isn’t there someone who can help?” The woman asks, soft and pleading. Matt shakes his head, a little confused. Foggy isn’t as talented in healing as other people Matt knows. Claire’s a healer, the best Matt's ever met. She’s a bit far, but she might be able to recommend someone who can help. He should call Claire…

 

But Foggy’s nearby. Foggy’s wonderful. Matt trusts Foggy. He wants Foggy to be here, right now, because Foggy’s wonderful and he can help this poor woman ( _vampire, wrong, vampire)_ and tell Matt how brave he is for saving her and maybe hug Matt and tell him that _Matt’s_ wonderful and—

 

“Please. Please call him. Now.” The woman whispers, and Matt dials.

 

“Matt?” Foggy answers, sounding a little surprised. “Hey, you’re late. I’m not doing your paperwork if you ditch.”

 

“Foggy, I need you to come downstairs.” Matt tells him urgently. “There’s…” He pauses, brow furrowed. The woman makes an encouraging noise. “There’s… I’m in trouble. Can you come?” He’s not in trouble, the woman’s in trouble, but somehow that’s not what comes out.

 

“What—of course. Are you okay? Do I need to grab anything? Ugh, why didn’t we restock the first aid kit? Hold on, just don’t move too much. Will you be there when I come down, or—“

 

“Alleyway.” The woman says, and Matt echoes her. “Hurry.”

 

He hangs up, and maybe thirty seconds later he hears the door to the office building slam open.

 

“Jesus, Matt, what happened? The sun’s not even up—oh. _No_.” The sound of his footsteps stops dead, and he sounds absolutely horrified. Matt nods. The woman must look absolutely awful, if it’s upsetting Foggy this much. Poor dear. Matt should really—

 

“Aw, I forgot how cute you look when you’re scared, _Foggy Bear.”_

There’s a rough sound, a body hitting brick, and Foggy makes a strangled sound. The woman giggles.

 

The haze that was seeping through Matt’s mind fades abruptly, and he gasps.

 

“Foggy, what—“ He shakes his head sharply to dislodge the vestiges of the cloudiness, and turns towards Foggy. The bright little flame that always shines so brightly in his mind, that’s _Foggy_ , is pinned against the wall by something blue-dark-cold.

 

The woman. _Vampire._

 

“I can’t believe you mind-whammied him.” Foggy hisses. “That’s low.” The woman giggles again.

 

“Oh, please. He wanted to be tricked. Do you know how easy it was to make him call you out to play? Lovely spell-work, by the way. Your office is about as heavily warded as Fort Knox. I couldn't touch you at all until you came running out of your pretty little safety nets.”

 

Matt takes a step closer, already reaching for his stakes, when the woman tuts gently and then there’s the icy, scraping sound of metal against skin. Foggy makes a small noise—startled, but not in pain. Not yet.

 

“Uh-uh, lover boy. One step closer and Foggy Bear won’t feel so well anymore.” Matt freezes, considering his options. He might be able to spear her with a stake if he throws hard enough, but he’d have to be fast. He’s not sure he could reach before she saw, before she hurt Foggy.

 

“Don’t worry, Matt—no, actually, worry a lot, she's crazy. But she’s also not going to hurt me… much.” He sighs, and sounds very much embarrassed when he mumbles, “Matt, meet Marci. She’s an old friend.”

 

“Friend?” Marci echoes, sounding incredibly amused and maybe a little annoyed. “That’s rather dull, not at all like how I remember our… friendship.”

 

“You _know_ her?” Matt asks, incredulous, taking another step. Foggy clears his throat awkwardly.

 

“Yeah.” He admits reluctantly. “Marci and I have known each other for a long time.”

 

“Foggy was such a cute baby Watcher.” Marci sighs, and Matt hears the gentle scratch of a fingernail on cloth—Marci, trailing her finger down Foggy’s chest. “Entirely adorable.”

 

“Cut it out, Marci.” Foggy chides her, but it’s weak, like he knows there’s no point in reprimanding her. “And stop threatening Matt. We can all stand and talk like civilized people without having to hold knives to people’s throats.” He pauses meaningfully. “ _Can’t we?”_

 

“Sure.” Matt says easily, because he prefers stakes and fists. No knives need apply. Marci, he thinks suspiciously, seems to be thinking along the same lines, because he hears the quick snick of a blade finding home in a leather sheath and she says brightly,

 

“I hate the things. Nasty, dull, messy.” She gives a spritely little laugh. “But you can never be too careful in this day and age. A girl’s got to protect herself from ruffians.”

 

“Ruffians have got to protect themselves from _you.”_ Foggy mutters darkly, his shoes scraping as he takes a step away from her and towards Matt.

 

Now that the immediate danger to Foggy is somewhat averted, Matt moves fast, snagging Foggy quickly and pulling him close. So that he can protect him. Of course.

 

“So, Matthew Murdock, huh?” Marci muses, and Matt hears the scratch of the brick again—she’s leaning against it, overly casual. “I’ve heard all kinds of interesting little tidbits about you.”

 

“Oh?” Matt asks lightly. “Good things, I hope.” Marci hums, considering.

 

“Not a bad fighter, apparently. Actually, I’ve heard you can be rather vicious—They call you the _Devil.”_ Matt grits his teeth at the name. He’d earned it before Foggy found him. He was growing into his powers, new and intoxicating, and he’d wanted to help people but he was just—too fast, too strong, too much of the Devil in him. Too many accidents.

 

Matt’s better now. Mostly.

 

“Matt is an amazing fighter.” Foggy agrees proudly. “Which you might find out soon if you don’t leave. Marci, the sun will be up any minute. I don’t want you to fry.”

 

Well, of course Matt doesn’t want anyone to _die_ either, but vampires are already technically _dead_ and Marci put a knife to Foggy’s throat. He’s willing to loiter a little, not-watch a pretty sunrise.

 

“Relax, we’ll be fine for another twenty minutes. Although….” Marci considers, then makes a same sighing, swooning sound she did when talking to Matt, right before his head got hazy. “If you wanted to make sure, take care of me…”

 

“No.” Matt snaps, grabbing Foggy’s arm. Now that he knows what to look for, he can fight it. The strands of Marci’s persuasion feel sticky on his mind, like spider webs being stretched apart until they snap. It’s an awful feeling, but Matt snaps them anyway. “Foggy, no. She’s—“

 

“Evil? Yeah. And she is also aware that those tricks don’t work on me anymore, and you won’t fall for them more than once. Smartie.” He bops Matt’s shoulder gently, and Matt shoots him a quick smile.

 

“Evil?” Marci gasps theatrically, and Matt hears the gentle swish of her skirt when he moves closer. He shifts so that he can get into a ready stance, with Foggy a little behind him. “Not evil, Foggy Bear. Misunderstood.”

 

“You’ve had two thousand years to explain yourself, Marci. I think by this point people _understand_ pretty well.”

 

Two thousand? That’s old, older than any vampire Matt’s ever met. It might explain why he fell under her persuasion—her power level must be off the charts.

 

He’ll still stake her if she hurts Foggy.

 

“Mm.” Marci says, noncommittally. “You let your hair grow out. It’s cute, looks like it would be real fun to play with.”

 

“Not especially. I keep it this way because it makes me look tough.” Both Marci and Matt snort at that one. “Yeah, screw you two.”

 

“Okay.” Marci says happily, and Matt would really like to say the same, but he can’t because he actually has a relationship to ruin. Also…

 

“No.” Matt says again, pulling on Foggy’s arm a little to get him closer. Foggy said that Marci’s persuasion powers don’t work on him (anymore, did they work before, what did that witch make him do), but there’s no harm in being careful. “No screwing.” Foggy sighs.

 

“Pretty much the motto of my life for the last five years.” He offers, a little bitterly. Matt winces.

 

Foggy met him five years ago, and it had been…fast. Matt hadn’t wanted a Watcher, especially for a roommate, but Foggy had been so friendly about it, so kind. Matt had thought he could give it a try and scare Foggy off in a day or so if he got too annoying.

 

In a day or so, Matt was scaring off anyone whose heartbeat skipped a beat anywhere in Foggy’s vicinity, instead. Apparently, Matt sort of wanted a Watcher. A lot.

 

“Since you met Murdock, huh?” Marci asks casually, and Matt winces again because he _knows_ she put it together. “What a coincidence.”

 

“Isn’t it though?” Foggy asks, voice a little high. Matt swallows, wondering what look Marci is sending Foggy right now. Is she telling him somehow, how Matt feels? Do her mind tricks extend that far?

 

“So, you two know each other?” He cuts in, not wanting to give Marci a chance to inform Foggy just _why_ he hasn’t had the chance to sleep with someone in five years. This proves to be a fatal mistake when Foggy tenses under his hand and Marci drawls cheerfully,

 

“Oh, _yes._ In the Biblical sense.”

 

“Marci!” Foggy yelps, and then yelps again when Matt’s hand tightens a little too much around his shoulder. “Matt!”

 

“Sorry.” Matt murmurs, immediately loosening his hold and smoothing a gentle hand down where he was pressing too hard. “Do you need ice? We still have a pack in the kit, right?” Foggy sighs.

 

“The kit I left upstairs because I was so freaked out.” Foggy mumbles, sounding embarrassed. “Don’t worry, Matt. It’s fine. I know you’d never hurt me.” Matt nods immediately, solemn.

 

“Never.” He agrees. “But maybe a little ice… I don’t want you to bruise.”

 

“Ugh.” Marci says, sounding entirely disgusted. “Are you two like this all the time?”

 

“Oh, you mean talking and showing compassion like normal, functional people?” Foggy asks dryly. “Yeah, how weird.”

 

“You’ve always been a sweetie, but I didn’t know there _were_ any softhearted Slayers. Your man’s a marshmallow.”

 

“I am not a marshmallow!” Matt snaps. “ _You're_ the one who's about to get toasted like one.”

 

“Ooh, nice one.” Foggy murmurs appreciatively, patting his arm. Matt grins at him, and Marci snorts.

 

“Seriously, it’s like watching a walking, talking Valentine.  Pathetic.” She sighs. “You used to go for passion, Foggy Bear. Excitement.”

 

“Matt _is_ passionate and exciting!” Foggy argues, sounding quite offended on Matt’s behalf.

 

“And we’re not together.” Matt adds quickly, hoping that he keeps the bitterness out of his tone.

 

There is a long silence. He hears Foggy’s coat as he shifts next to him, moving away a little, and Matt reaches out and takes his hand, towing him back in. He is not letting Foggy anywhere near Marci.

 

Marci makes a strange little sound, and then a louder one, and then Matt realizes that she’s laughing—no, she’s cackling, like she just heard the funniest joke ever told.

 

“This is priceless.” She says finally, when her laughter’s died down. “Oh, honey. Five _years_? That’s a long time. You sure you don’t need me to take the edge off?”

 

Foggy hesitates, and Matt thinks for one horrible second that he’s going to say yes and leave Matt alone in this alley, but then Foggy sighs.

 

“No, Marci. I’ll wait fifty if I have to.” Matt relaxes. Obviously he hopes that he’ll have wooed Foggy in less than fifty years, but it’s good to have a deadline to work with.

 

“Boring.” Marci tells him. “Murdock’s made you boring.”

 

“’Murdock’ has made me happy.” Foggy corrects her, and Matt beams at him maybe a little goofily.

 

“You make me happy too.” Matt tells him softly, and Foggy shifts a little so their shoulders brush.

 

“I don’t like you, no matter how pitiful you look.” Marci tells Matt flatly. “You’re the reason Foggy Bear broke up with me.” Matt tries not to grin too viciously at the thought. Foggy snorts.

 

“Uh, no.” He says slowly. “I broke up with you because you kept trying to _turn me_ in my _sleep.”_

Matt goes tense. ‘Turn’. A vampire tried to…

 

“You’d make a lovely vampire, Foggy Bear. Such a sweet little fledgling.”

 

Screw diplomacy. Matt goes for the stakes.

 

“Matt, no. It’s fine. It’s not a threat, because Marci is leaving. Now.” There is a long, expectant silence, and Foggy groans. “I’ll call you later, Marci.” Marci hums happily.

 

“Try not to wait another five years this time, Foggy Bear.” She advises sweetly, and Matt tenses even more the closer she gets to them. He turns himself and Foggy carefully so that they’re always facing her, and Marci seems to find this hilarious.

 

“Okay, he _is_ cute. I’ll give you that.” She tells Foggy, sounding amused. When Foggy growls, she adds easily, “Not as cute as you are, don’t worry.”

 

 She moves too fast to stop. By the time Matt’s realized she got close, she’s already gone, the wet smack of her lips against Foggy’s cheek loud in the empty alley.

 

“Call me.” Marci giggles, voice drifting and slipping away like mist. “We should get a _drink_ sometime.”

 

* * *

 

“You have Stick, remember? You _owe_ me a dark past.”

 

“I wasn’t sleeping with Stick even after finding out he was a soulless undead creature!” Matt points out, a little hysterically.

 

It had been a tense day at the office, Matt pretty much perpetually glaring into space and stabbing paper with his letter opener, imagining the paper was Marci. Foggy had sighed and dragged him home for the inevitable talk.

 

“Okay, Marci is not—well, okay, she is undead, and she _technically_ does not have a soul, but she is still a very…nice person.” He doesn’t sound so sure of this. “I like her.”

 

“Obviously.” Matt grits out. “How long were you together?” Foggy clears his throat and mumbles something that even Matt has trouble hearing. “What?”

 

“ _I said_ , three years.” Matt stares at him for a second. Three years. That’s worse than he thought. He’d assumed it was some sort of sordid affair, a few one-night stands with no contact in between. “On and off, we were never—I mean, I didn’t sleep with anyone else while we were together, but it wasn’t officially exclusive.”

 

“Three years.” Matt repeats, a little numb. “And she tried to turn you?”

 

“Uh, yeah.” Foggy mutters, sounding incredibly uncomfortable. “She also wanted to do some… stuff. Vampire stuff. I wasn’t really into it. In theory it's fine, I guess. I mean, maybe it if was the right person, eventually, but at the time, uh...”

 

Vampire stuff…

 

“She tried to _drink your blood?”_ Matt’s hand clenches around his stake. Foggy teases him about how he always has a stake in his hand, even in the shower, but really Matt just needs to feel their weight when he’s angry. They keep him grounded, and he needs that right now or else he’s going to go hunt down Foggy’s ex-girlfriend and dust her.

 

“’Tried’ being the operative word.” Foggy assures him. “After the third time I woke up to her fangs in my face, I decided it was time to go. I got assigned to you a week later, and I’ve never looked back.” He makes an annoyed little sound. “And I already talked this all out with Marci, five years ago. I don’t know why she’s acting like a spurned lover.”

 

“So she didn’t bite you?” Matt asks quietly. “Ever?”

 

He’s not sure what he’ll do if Foggy tells him he’s got the marks somewhere on his skin. Matt knows every inch of Foggy's arms and legs from training, but he has no idea what Foggy feels like from the neck down. There haven’t been that many opportunities to find out. And Foggy and Marci were together for _three years._

 

The thought makes Matt feel sick. It would be a brand, a mark of ownership. Foggy isn’t Marci’s anymore, but does his body know that?

 

“God, no.” Foggy says, giving a startled laugh. “I mean, love bites, sure. But nothing that broke the skin. I think she wanted me to _want_ it, at first—ask for it, you know? And then towards the end, I think she started losing her patience, so that's why there were the sneak attacks…I don’t think I’d make a very good vampire. I already need SPF 100 for a cloudy day.”

 

“You’d make a horrible vampire.” Matt agrees, relieved. No bites. No brands. Thank _god._ “Awful. You’re a much better Watcher.”

 

“Hey, thanks.” Foggy tells him, sounding genuinely pleased. “Yeah, I kind of like my job. Hard work, taking care of you all the time, but I like it.”

 

“You love it.” Matt accuses, and even though he’s still a little irritated at Marci he finds himself calming a little. Marci may have had Foggy in the past, but now he’s sitting in Matt’s apartment, teasing him and happy and _unmarked._

Foggy sighs.

 

“Yeah, Matt. I kind of do.”

 

* * *

 

 _Call me_ , Foggy had said. _Call me next time. We don’t work alone. That’s what I’m here for. I Watch out for you._

 

Matt hadn’t called.

 

And now he’s gasping and bleeding on the ground, and he knows with a horrible, calm sort of clarity that he’s going to die.

 

Foggy doesn’t know. Foggy is at home, asleep. Foggy will wake up in the morning, and he’ll go to the office, and Matt won’t be there. He’ll be a little annoyed, call Matt and get his voicemail. By lunch he’ll be concerned, tell Karen to watch the office and check on Matt’s apartment. And there will be no one there, and he’ll keep looking and getting more and more scared and then he’ll find Matt and, and—

 

There’s something dripping into his mouth, copper bright and bitter. Matt coughs and tries to spit it out, but he can't keep himself from swallowing just a little bit despite his best efforts. It feels cold sliding down his throat, and yet it _burns._

 

Blood. Matt’s coughing up blood, must be. And it tastes strong, too sharp, icy and old. _Wrong._

He needs to get to Foggy.

 

The vampire doesn’t go down easy—Matt has to dust him, and he’s not sure he wouldn’t have done it anyway if he wasn’t so desperate. Matt limps carefully home—home to _Foggy,_ Foggy can help—and he only just gets into the window before he collapses.

 

“Matt?” Foggy gasps, and reaches down, pulls Matt to his feet and pulls him to the couch. Foggy is stronger than he pretends to be most of the time, and he manages to heft most of Matt’s weight without too much effort. Matt shivers happily when he feels the soft upholstery of the couch on his skin. Foggy bought this couch just because Matt said he liked the material, because he wanted Matt to be comfortable.

 

Matt loves this couch.

 

“Matt, no, no, no. Don’t do this to me. That’s not your—it’s his blood, isn’t it? The vampire’s. Did you swallow any of it?” Matt makes a weak, confused sound. Foggy is crying as he runs his fingers gently over Matt’s frame, checking the damage. His hands are shaking. “Please, Matt. Not this.”

 

Matt wants to say it’s okay, that Foggy will be okay, that Matt should have called.

 

He wants to tell Foggy that he loves him, but all that comes out is a wet, agonized gasp. He tastes the blood in his mouth.

 

Foggy sobs and clutches at his hand.

 

“Oh _, god,_ Matt.” He whispers, and he sounds wrecked. “You’re—“

 

He sobs again, and then Matt feels the heat of Foggy’s forehead pressing against his own.

 

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.” Foggy takes a shaky breath. “We can do this. It’ll be okay, Matt. Just go to sleep, okay? Don’t fight it. I’ll get…I’ll get everything you need.”

 

 _You’re what I need,_ Matt wants to say. _I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you._

But he’s tired and dizzy and he’s already slipping, slipping, slipping…

 

* * *

 

Matt wakes up to the most delicious scent he’s ever encountered. Ambrosia, sweet and heavy on his tongue even when he can’t quite taste it yet.

 

“Oh, thank god. Claire wasn’t sure when you’d wake up.” Foggy says, and his voice sounds rough, like he’s been crying. “Are you—how do you feel?”

 

“Amazing.” Matt tells him honestly, grinning brightly. “Better than ever. Whatever Claire did, it was brilliant.”

 

“Yeah. It was something all right.” Foggy mutters bitterly. “But you’re… you’re calm right now? Not angry? Not…you’re thinking clearly? You know who I am?”

 

Matt frowns.

 

“Of course I know who you are. What’s the matter? I know I should have called you and I’m sorry about that, but I got Nobu and I’m okay.” Foggy gives a slightly hysterical laugh.

 

“Yes, _yes._ You’re okay, Matt, and that’s all that matters. I want you to remember that. I’m here, and I’m not leaving you.” Matt shifts carefully into a sitting position. He smells Foggy’s softly scented detergent and the silk sheets Foggy bought just in case Matt stayed over when he was hurt and needed the bed.

 

Matt’s not hurt, but he’s not telling Foggy that, not if it means he'll have to get up. The bed smells wonderful, although it’s not nearly as mouthwatering as that delicious scent in the air that Matt can’t quite place, even though it’s familiar. Wonderful. _Delicious._

 

Maybe Foggy made him breakfast.

 

“Of course, I’m not leaving you either.” Matt promises, because he’d follow Foggy anywhere, into Hell if he had to. “Why do you sound so worried? Claire healed me up perfectly—I feel great. Hungry, but that’s all. And I smell something fantastic, so that should be easy to fix. Breakfast in bed sounds perfect.”

 

“Oh, Matt…” Foggy whispers, and there is something horribly broken in his voice. Matt listens carefully, and he hears that Foggy’s heart is just a little too fast. Scared. But he’s not scared of Matt, he’s never scared of Matt. Scared _for_ Matt.

 

Matt can’t hear his own heartbeat.

 

“No.” Matt says blankly. “No.” Foggy grips at his hand, squeezing desperately.

 

“Matt, it’s alright. You’re okay. I’m here.”

 

“No, no, no.” Matt murmurs, horrified. He reaches up, puts his fingers to his throat, where his pulse should be. Cold skin, icy. No pulse.

 

_No heartbeat._

 

“It was Nobu.” Foggy tells him quietly. “You had lost so much _blood_ , and he must have slipped you some of his, before you got him—the bastard, I’d kill him myself if I had the chance. We did what we could, but you were already dying—you were… you were dead, by the time Claire got here. And I knew. She told me what to expect.” He laughs, a gasping, desperate sound. “I don’t really have experience with this sort of thing.”

 

Vampires. Foggy has plenty of experience with how to hurt vampires, but very little with how to help them.

 

“You need to get away from me.” Matt growls, shoving at Foggy’s shoulder. Foggy won’t let go of his hand, and he won’t move away. “Foggy, I’m dangerous. I’m unstable in this condition. I’m not… I’m not _me_ anymore.”

 

“You’re Matt.” Foggy argues. “I knew it even before you woke up.” ‘Woke up’. What a joke. “You _know_ me. You didn’t forget.”

 

“I’m not Matt!” Matt yells, trying to shove him away again. “Foggy, you know what happens now. No remorse, no loyalty, nothing except the bloodlust. The fact that I haven’t already attacked you is a miracle.”

 

He’s _hungry._

“You won’t hurt me.” Foggy says confidently. “But you’re scared you will. That proves you’re still you.”

 

“I don’t even have a soul anymore!” Matt hisses. “Do you really think I’d care?”

 

“Yes.” Foggy says simply, brushing a strand of sweaty hair from his forehead. Matt wants to snap at it, remind Foggy why trusting a vampire is such a stupid idea, but instead he finds himself leaning into the touch with a small, wounded sound.

 

“I’m _hungry,_ Foggy. I’m _starving.”_ He whines piteously. When Foggy shushes him and strokes his cheek, an idea occurs. Matt smiles sharply, brutally. “And you know what I want for _breakfast in bed_?”

 

“Matt…” Foggy says, low and unsure. He still hasn’t pulled his hand away, but it’s shaking. “Come on, don’t do this. You don’t want to do this.”

 

“I really, really do.” Matt purrs, and snags a hand in Foggy’s hair, yanks him down to just barely brush his lips across the tender skin of Foggy’s throat. Foggy inhales sharply, and his heart is thundering in Matt’s ears. Is he still scared? Scared of Matt now, the way he should be? Good. “And you'll give me what I need, won’t you? Anything I want?”

 

And it’s cruel, god it’s cruel. Matt hates himself for every moment, but he’s got to scare Foggy now, got to terrify him and make him leave. Leave and never come back, because Matt’s not sure when it won’t be a lie anymore, how much he wants to taste Foggy, suck out every last drop, the feast of a lifetime.

 

He’s not sure it’s a lie _now._

 

Foggy takes a shuddering breath and squeezes Matt’s hand.

 

“Okay, Matt.” He says, voice small but certain. “Anything you want.” He tilts his head closer, so that Matt’s lips are pressed against his neck in a sick parody of a kiss.

 

Matt hisses and pushes him away.

 

“You _idiot.”_ He gasps out, and he can’t breathe for a second even though he doesn’t have to. “I would never—I’d die first. I’d cut out my own heart before I hurt you.”

 

A terrible, twisted idea flickers to life in his mind. Matt cannot help but turn just a little in the direction of his stakes. Right there. He could file off one of the ends, make it sharp. It would be quick, and he could run his fingers over the runes before he did it, feel Foggy’s protection seeping into him. He could do it, if it was to protect Foggy.

 

“Don’t even think about it.” Foggy growls. “You think I didn’t already charm the hell out of those things? You couldn’t even give yourself a splinter.”

 

Matt glares at him.

 

“ _You’ll_ need to do it then, eventually. They’ll send you another Slayer, once they realize I’m… I’m _dead._ They’ll send one, and you know what your first mission will be together? Slay the vampire. The blood traitor.” Foggy snorts angrily.

 

“I’d kill them if they tried.” Foggy says bluntly, and there’s not a hint of the usual humor in his voice.

 

“No.” Matt tells him sharply. “We don’t kill.” Foggy sighs and pokes him.

 

“I know.” He sighs, and the hardness has faded from his voice like it was never there. A test, Matt realizes, and he wonders if he passed. “I know that, and so do you. You still _know_ that, because you’re still you.” Matt shakes his head. “It’ll be okay, as long as you don’t go around draining half the city. I have to tell you, Matt, the Council doesn’t care. They gave us up as a lost cause years ago.”

 

“I’ll never drink.” Matt tells him stubbornly. “You can’t make me drink.”

 

Foggy sighs, running a gentle hand through Matt's hair. Matt shivers and forces himself not to lean into it this time.

 

“I won’t let you die.” Foggy whispers, low and sad, and Matt smiles bitterly.

 

“Don’t you know? I’m already dead.”

 

* * *

 

“Matt, you _need_ to drink.”

 

Matt shakes his head, brushing past Foggy and into his apartment. He feels the tingle of the wards, and he hates it.

 

Foggy had redone all of Matt’s wards again. He’d had to, because Matt couldn’t enter his own home. _Vampire,_ the wards had hissed. _Get out. Wrong. Monster._

 

“You haven’t had anything since you woke up. Claire says she’s never heard of a vampire lasting this long, and she’s not sure how much more you can take.” Matt shakes his head again, putting his stakes on the counter and stroking the one in his hand briefly before adding it to the others.

 

The stakes are meant to keep away monsters too, yet they thrum warm and happy against his touch. The wards are standard spell work, objective, but these? These are _Foggy’s_ magic, crafted just for Matt, and they feel like home.

 

He still runs his fingers over the runes every night, and now every morning too. Home.

 

“Matt, you’ve done your job. Fisk’s in jail—you need to take care of yourself, now. You don’t have to hurt anyone. Claire gave you bagged blood. She says she’ll give you as much as you need.”

 

“It smells stale.” Matt snaps. “Just the scent of it makes me feel sick. I can’t just drink some stranger’s cold, congealed blood and pretend it’s okay.”

 

“It’s fresh and you know it.” Foggy informs him chidingly. “And we can heat it up. I’ve been reading. Most people don’t like the microwave, but we can put the bag in some hot water, poach it a little like it’s an egg. I think I have the theory down, but—“

 

“No, Foggy.” Matt tells him firmly. “I’d rather starve.”

 

“You—you stupid drama queen!” Foggy accuses him, reaching over and poking Matt hard in the chest. “Look, I get that it tastes bad, but it’s something we have to do. We can, I don’t know, add some flavoring. Something nice. A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, right?”

 

“Sugar wouldn’t help.” Matt argues. “It would just be an extra level of awful, sickly sweet and still stale. No, I’ll just—“

 

“Please, Matt?” Foggy asks quietly, and his hand moves back to Matt’s chest, pressing gently. Like he’s feeling for a heartbeat, even though he knows he won’t find one. “Please, just try. For me?”

 

Matt closes his eyes, exhaling shakily.

 

“Get the blood.”

 

And he tries, he really does, but he can’t even manage a single swallow. He chokes and spits it out almost immediately, and he knows he’s just ruined his carpet but he can’t take the taste in his mouth for another second.

 

“Okay, not B Positive.” Foggy mutters, wiping at his mouth with a soft towel. “That’s okay. We’ll keep trying.” Matt shakes his head, miserable.

 

“It all smells the same to me.” He admits. “Sometimes it seems weaker, bland. I might be able to drink that.” He winces at the thought. “But none of it smells good.”

 

Lie. Liar. Matt’s smelled one kind of blood that is _perfect,_ that’s making his mouth water right now, but he can never, never tell Foggy that.

 

“Okay, we’ll get bland blood. Not yummy, but nutritious.” Foggy says kindly. “That sucks though—ha. Sorry.” Matt glares. “You sure there’s not any kind you’d like? A treat or something? We could do a taste test…”

 

“No.” Matt says, a little too loudly. He doesn’t need to taste. This is already too much, not fair to Foggy. It’s not fair to sit here, breathing deeply just so that he can get more of the scent in his nose and mouth, while Foggy’s just trying to help him. Not fair to want to do more than just breathe. Drink. Swallow. _Sate._

 

“There is, isn’t there?” Foggy says slowly, comprehension dawning. “There _is_ something you want to eat, but you don’t want to tell me. It’s not Karen, is it? Because she’d do it, I know she would, but I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”

 

“Not Karen.” Matt assures him quickly. Karen’s one of the bland bloods. Matt might be able to stomach it, but it’s not what he wants and he’d never ask it of her.

 

“Claire?” Foggy asks curiously. “She might help. She’s already giving us so much blood though. It seems a little unfair.”

 

“Not Claire.” Matt promises, and only realizes what a monumental mistake it is when Foggy takes a sharp breath. They don’t know enough people—the social lives of an (ex) Slayer and his (ex) Watcher are not exactly healthy. In fact, the only people Matt really talks to are Claire, Karen, occasionally Marci (although Matt fights against this tooth and nail), and…

 

“Me?” Foggy asks, voice a little timid. “You want _me_ , Matt?” Matt swallows and says nothing. “No, you have to tell me. Don’t I deserve to know?” It’s not fair, it’s blatant manipulation, but Matt gives in anyway.

 

“I’m so sorry.” He whispers, ashamed. “I don’t mean to, but I can’t control it. I’d never do anything. I’d never hurt you.”

 

“Oh, Matt.” Foggy murmurs, and Matt feels arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug. “You should have told me sooner.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Matt says again, desperately. “You’re not in any danger. I told you, I’d starve first. I’d never—“

 

“Do we think we should do the wrist or the neck?” Foggy asks idly, running a careful hand down Matt’s back. “Most of the websites say you should start with the wrist and work your way up once you know it’s safe, but I think you should be alright with the neck first, if you want. You’re very good at denying yourself pleasure.”

 

“I’m not going to drink from you.” Matt tells him, alarmed. He tries to pull away, and Foggy lets him, but only enough so that he can grab Matt’s wrist and start towing him towards—oh god, that’s the bedroom. “Where are we going?”

 

“I might need to lie down after, depending on how much you drink. I am _not_ recuperating on that mini hell that is your couch.”

 

“You’re not recuperating at all!” Matt yelps, strangled. “We’re not doing this!”

 

“Yes, we are.” Foggy says easily. “So, wrist or neck?” He makes a considering noise. “There’s the thigh too, but I didn’t think you’d want to do that one.”

 

Matt’s mind goes blank for a moment. Sucking at Foggy’s thighs, nipping, just little bites, making the blood come to the surface in bruises and maybe a taste, just a tiny one. Moving up and sucking again, no blood, just heat and silky softness and—

 

“ _Yeah.”_ He blinks and clears his throat. “I mean, _no._ Foggy, I’m not going to do this to you. You’re not a blood bag, you’re my best friend.”

 

“I _am_ your best friend, which is why we _are_ going to do this.” Foggy says, and Matt feels the tug downward and the soft sound of silk. Foggy wants Matt to sit on the bed with him, and Matt lets himself be pulled because he’s a coward and he’s weak.

 

“I can’t.” Matt says weakly. “I don’t even know how.” Foggy laughs.

 

“It seems kind of straightforward, Matt.” He teases, and he doesn’t sound nervous at all. “You just put on your game face and bite. Not too hard, obviously, but enough. Just try to be careful.”

 

“Of course I’d be careful.” Matt mutters mutinously before he can help himself, and then adds hastily, “But it doesn’t matter, because we’re not going to do this.”

 

“Matt.” Foggy says, soft and tender. “Come on. I want to try.” He lifts their joined hands gently until he can press the delicate skin of his wrist against Matt’s lips. Matt shudders. “You can do it. Just a little taste.”

 

Matt closes his eyes tightly. He tries to shake his head, but that just makes it worse, the soft skin sliding against his mouth and it’s so, so _soft_ and he can taste the sweetness already, thrumming just under the surface.

 

“Just one taste. Please, Matty?”

 

That goddamn ‘Matty’. Matt’s pressing a gentle kiss against the skin and sucking softly by the time he comes back to himself. He hasn’t broken the skin, not yet, but it’s closer to the surface now, just under his tongue and he needs it, he needs it, he needs—

 

“A tiny bit more. Come on, Matty. For me?”

 

_Matty._

  

Matt shudders and bites.

 

The taste that fills his mouth is nothing like Matt remembers blood. It’s nothing like the flat, metallic smell of the blood in the kitchen, the sour sip he tried to take only a few minutes before. It’s perfect, it’s everything, sweet and thick and just a slight hint of salt, sliding smooth and hot down his throat.

 

He moans and moves to wrap his hand around Foggy’s wrist to tug it closer, bite deeper. God, it’s perfect, and it’s not just the taste. It lights up all of his senses like a live wire, sound and touch and heat, so much _heat._

 

Foggy whimpers, and Matt jolts back to himself, pulling away.

 

“Oh, god. I’m so sorry. I knew this was a horrible idea.” Matt whispers, horrified. “I’ll get you something. A bandage, something to stop the bleeding.”

 

“It’s fine, Matt.” Foggy says, and his voice sounds low and a little rough. “You were great, you were careful. It’s barely bleeding at all. That not what I was—It felt good, right?” Matt nods, ashamed. Foggy sighs shakily. “As good as you just felt, I think I probably felt a hundred times better.”

 

“What?” Matt asks hoarsely, and Foggy laughs weakly.

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

Matt remembers. They’ve busted up more than a few feeding dens. People coming from all over the city to get fed on by vamps, because of the high it gives them. Addictive, they say. Nothing like it in the world. Always sounding so awed, so blissful.

 

“Really?” Matt asks, just to be sure. When Foggy makes a wan sound of agreement, Matt smiles tentatively and licks at his wrist. Just a little hint left—Foggy’s right, it’s barely bleeding at all. “So if I wanted… if I wanted more?”

 

He’s still so _hungry._ It’s only gotten worse, now that he knows what he can taste, what he can have.

 

“I’d say it’s safe to start working our way up.” Foggy tells him, sounding pleased. “I’ve heard the neck feels even better.”

 

Matt bites his lip at the thought, and hisses when he almost slices it open. He's going to have to work on that tic if this is going to work.

 

“I didn’t take too much already?” He checks, because no matter how much he wants this Foggy’s safety comes first. Foggy thinks for a second.

 

“No. I checked with Claire to make sure how much I could give, just in case. I’d sort of…” He swallows. “I’d sort of hoped you might want this. You should be able to take a little more, as long as we’re careful.”

 

“Of course.” Matt breathes, leaning in to nuzzle gently at Foggy’s neck. “So careful. Just a little bit.”

 

“Mm-hmm.” Foggy agrees, voice strangled. “So, totally cool if this is just going to be a blood booty call, but if you maybe wanted, uh, other things. I’ve heard those can make it even better. Which I’m not _actually_ sure is possible, but I’m… I’m willing to try. If you want to.”

 

“Other things.” Matt repeats faintly, eyes wide. “You mean?”

 

“It’s not a blood junkie thing.” Foggy adds hastily, sounding a little desperate. “It’s not to get a high. I’ve sort of wanted to do other things for…uh. About five years?”

 

“Oh.” Matt murmurs. Five years. They could have been doing this for five _years._

Might as well make up for lost time.

 

Matt's presses his lips to Foggy's neck, just above the shoulder, and Foggy shivers and moves closer. Matt’s gentle, pushing him back slowly onto the bed. Silk and heat. Perfect.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Foggy says, sounding a little stunned but in a very happy way. Matt nods absently, reveling this time in the way it makes his mouth brush across Foggy’s soft skin.

 

“Mm.” He agrees happily, placing another soft kiss to Foggy’s throat. “Very much yes. Always yes.”

 

“I knew it.” Foggy gasps. “You _are_ a sap. No one can be that good an actor.” Matt grins, the sharpness of his canines catching just a little on Foggy’s skin and making Foggy whimper.

 

“Just for you.” Matt murmurs, remembering his words. “Only for you.”

 

“ _Sap.”_ Foggy sighs, and Matt gives just one more kiss to his neck, just above the pulse.

 

“Pull my hair if you want me to stop, okay?” He warns, and Foggy nods, hair tickling against Matt’s cheeks. “Alright. Just one more taste…”

 

* * *

 

Matt’s careful. He makes sure to take only a little, licking away at the delicate trickles of blood that well up in between sips. He wants it to last as long as it can, and he knows he can’t take too much.

 

There are other things to taste too.

 

“Ick, that’s sort of nasty.” Foggy says when Matt leans up to give him a lazy kiss. “Does that actually taste good to you?”

 

“Mm-hmm.” Matt murmurs. “Delicious. Like salt-water taffy.” He licks back into Foggy’s mouth to swallow the surprised sound.

 

“If you say so.” Foggy gasps when he pulls away, breathless. Matt nods agreeably.

 

“A little more?” He asks kindly. Foggy hesitates, and then nods against Matt’s neck.

 

“Yeah. I’m not dizzy yet. I think I can take a little more.” He yelps a moment later. “ _Oh._ You weren’t talking about blood.”

 

“Nope.” Matt agrees, flexing his fingers again to accommodate the new one. Foggy whines. “Although, the blood thing’s good to know. I’ll keep that in mind for later.”

 

“Good. You do that.” Foggy says, still sounding a little short of breath. Matt smiles and kisses him softly for a long minute or two, just until Foggy's used to the stretch. 

 

“A little more?” He begs again, once Foggy has relaxed. Foggy laughs.

 

“Still not talking about the blood, are you?" He mutters dryly, and Matt shakes his head, smile wicked.

 

“I’m saving that part.” He informs Foggy happily. “So. More?”

 

“Go for it.” Foggy sighs, and Matt thinks he’s probably trying to sound long-suffering but he just sounds blissful. Matt grins eagerly and pulls out his fingers.

 

He’s careful pressing inside, stopping and licking gingerly at Foggy’s shoulder every time Foggy shudders and tenses.

 

“How are you doing?” He asks, looking up when Foggy whimpers. “Okay? Not sore? Dizzy yet?”

 

“I’m a bit light-headed, yeah.” Foggy laughs. “But in a nice way. They weren’t lying when they said this felt good. I mean, I knew getting sucked off was pretty great, but this takes it to a whole new level.” He runs a finger delicately over Matt’s bottom lip, just against the point of his sharp canine.

 

“I love you.” Matt murmurs, kissing him. He’s suddenly, fiercely grateful for Foggy. Foggy, who gave up his life’s work fighting vampires for Matt and who offered him his blood without a second thought, who’s laughing and teasing him and making it _okay,_ making this into a blessing instead of a curse.

 

“Yeah, I know.” Foggy tells him fondly. “You’ve been saying it once a minute for the last hour.” When Matt frowns, he adds gently, “You know I love you too. I’ve been saying it _back_ once a minute for the last hour, haven’t I?” Matt smiles.

 

“I still like hearing it.” He admits. “Say it again.” He gets the distinct feeling that Foggy is rolling his eyes.

 

“I love—Matt!” He yelps when Matt gives a sharp thrust.

 

“Say it again.” Matt murmurs, and Foggy shudders and complies.

 

Every time Foggy says it, Matt moves. Harder, faster, until Foggy can’t quite get the words out anymore and Matt can’t quite find the words to ask.

 

“I really do love it when you scream.” Matt says a little dazedly after Foggy decides that Matt’s name is a good shorthand for the ‘I love you’ part. “I didn’t peg you for a screamer, although I really should have. Smart mouth.”

 

“Bite me, Murdock.” Foggy gasps, only half joking, and Matt grins and does. It’s enough to get another one of those lovely screams, and the feeling of Foggy tightening around him and sobbing his name is too much. Matt bites a little harder and comes, harder than he ever has in his life.

 

Nothing like it in the world.

 

Addictive.

 

Afterwards, Matt’s a little too sated and boneless to get up. He feels like he’s just had the best, biggest meal of his life and he can’t quite find it in himself to move.

 

“It’s lucky you’re not a messy eater.” Foggy muses as he cleans Matt carefully with a damp towel. Matt hums happily.

 

“I didn’t want to waste a drop.” He sighs, and Foggy snorts.

 

“Still kind of ew, Matt.” He says bluntly, and Matt hears him move away to toss the towel in the hamper. Matt smiles and pulls Foggy into his arms as soon as Foggy’s close enough. “Jesus, your feet are cold.”

 

“You’re nice and warm though.” Matt points out. “Lovely.”

 

He licks lightly at Foggy’s neck, tasting for any lingering hints of sweetness, and Foggy gasps. Still tender. Marks, _Matt's_  marks. They probably won’t scar, but Matt likes it better that way. He can bite them back into the skin every time, fresh and dark and beautiful. Matt won’t be able to see them, but everyone else will.

 

“I can feel you smirking, you smug bastard.” Foggy tells him, sounding incredibly fond. Matt smirks wider and sucks another bruise over the bite. He wants it to be clear as day to _everybody_. “Looks like our night life is looking up, huh?” Foggy muses. Matt shrugs.

 

“You don’t have to.” He protests weakly. “I can do nights, and you can do days.” Foggy snorts and presses a kiss to Matt’s hair.

 

“Yeah, no. We go together, or not at all, remember?” He laughs. “Actually, this might help business. Pretty much all of our clients are nocturnal anyway.”

 

It’s a fair point, and Matt’s too grateful to argue. He would never force Foggy to change for him, but truthfully he’s not sure he could sleep at all without Foggy, now that he knows what it feels like to hold him in his arms. This way, they can stay up all night together, and Foggy won’t need to buy sunscreen anymore. Win-win.

 

“Patrol?” He wonders, going back to mouthing gently at the bites.

 

“Oh, no worries. Marci can help Karen cover the office while we go.” Matt goes very, very still.

 

 _“What?”_ Now _Foggy_ goes very, very still.

 

“Um.” He laughs a little nervously. “Did I not mention Marci’s a lawyer too? And she says she wants to turn over a new leaf, and we could always use the extra manpower—“

 

“Absolutely not.” Matt says firmly. “She wants to eat you.” Foggy scoffs.

 

“She doesn’t want to eat me, Matt, any more than you do. She just wants a nibble.” When Matt snarls, Foggy hastens to add, “Which she will not be getting, because the only vampire I’m letting near my neck is you. She’s just going to be a friend and a colleague.”

 

Matt considers. They _do_ need the manpower, and having an ancient vampire on their side would be very useful if the Council decides to actually do their job and step in. With Karen and Claire too, they’re starting to amass a nice little team. A ragtag group of hunters who care about helping the people of Hell’s Kitchen instead of killing them.

 

“Fine.” Matt agrees grudgingly. Foggy sighs in relief, relaxing. “But you need at least five more marks before she can see you. I don’t want her getting any ideas.”

 

“I’m not sure there’s any room left on me to mark.” Foggy muses a little thoughtfully. “You kind of have a thing about biting. I’m not actually sure if it’s a vampire thing or a Matt thing.”

 

“Bit of both.” Matt says cheerfully. He thinks he might have left some space on Foggy’s stomach, and he’s about to lick down and investigate when he feels blunt teeth nip at his throat. Matt shudders, gasping and arching into the touch. He feels Foggy grin against his skin.

 

“It’s okay. I kind of have a thing about biting too.”

**Author's Note:**

> See, I meant to make this plotty and gritty, and instead I get this string of vaguely dark but mostly fluffy stuff with no real connection between the bits. I suck. Heh, suck.
> 
> Also, most peeps who watch Buffy know that Slayers are girls, as a rule, but rules are made to be broken! Plus nothing else matches Buffy canon anyway, so why not go the extra mile?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Bite Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5362538) by [RsCreighton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/pseuds/RsCreighton)




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